


"Art Enables Us to Find Ourselves and Lose Ourselves at the Same Time."

by Beatsperminute



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 19:38:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14576172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatsperminute/pseuds/Beatsperminute
Summary: Tsukishima didn’t even know he liked to draw. The idea of a secret side of someone he was sure he knew everything about opened a door to curiosity, a door he never thought existed. Except, he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that door was labeled ‘Nosy.’ He just needed to decide if he cared or not.Yamaguchi’s business is Yamaguchi’s business. Yamaguchi’s business is Yamaguchi’s business.He repeated this over in his mind so many times, the words became null





	"Art Enables Us to Find Ourselves and Lose Ourselves at the Same Time."

**Author's Note:**

> Can u believe i had this in my drafts for almost 3 years??? lolol well i fixed it up yesterday and now here we are! Id love to hear from you! so if you wanna comment, give me a suggestion for fanfic, or just gush about anime in general, hmu at beats-per-minute or bpmdraws (where i hardly draw anything lol) on Tumblr! contacting me on ao3 is p cool too :)

Tsukishima stood in the doorway of Yamaguchi’s house, restlessly shifting his weight from foot to foot. The porch shielded the frigid wind that bit at his naked cheeks during his walk, but he was still cold. Pushing his hands further into his coat, Tsukishima grit his teeth to keep them from chattering.

 Yamaguchi’s mother finally opened the door. The moment the cold air hit her, she folded in her on herself and used the one hand not on the doorknob to pull her sweater around her torso. Tsukishima mentally cursed for not coming at a later time, although he offered a strained, polite smile. Conversation with the small lady was a crick in the neck, literally, as her five-foot one frame was far below his eye level. Short people made him feel ganglier than he really was—and Tsukishima _despised_ those who emphasized his height. He slouched, uncomfortable about accommodating someone else’s presence. He asked after Yamaguchi.

 “Tadashi jumped in the shower twenty minutes ago. You know how procrastinatory he can be,” his mother apologized, smiling and swinging her hand up and down dismissively. _And if it’s not her height,_ Tsukishima thought, _it’s her unconcerned oblivion._ He knew it wasn’t Yamaguchi being slow, it was Yamaguchi being so nervous he sat under the hot water until his skin was an unappealing scarlet. Tsukishima thanked her, excused himself, and went up to his friend’s room.

As soon as he entered, he let out an irritated sigh. Remnants of his best friend’s scattered mind laid about the area—an unmade bed with shirts and hangers strewn across it, textbooks and notebooks lying open on the floor, half-opened drawers with even more clothes spilling over the sides. Unable to find enough comfortable room, he reluctantly eased himself onto a corner of the mattress. He glanced at his watch, thinking if Yamaguchi finished soon, they might still catch the five forty rerun screening of Jurassic Park.

Tsukishima leaned back on his arms, stretching his neck to stare at the ceiling covered in glow in the dark stars. He remembered buying those for Yamaguchi the previous year, as a middle school graduation present. Thinking back on the memory, he blushed. The only reason he ever bought something for him was because he was so sure Yamaguchi wouldn’t want to follow him to Karasuno. _I must have really been an idiot,_ Tsukishima reflected.

 Just when he began to file the memory away, he uncontrollably recalled the warm smile Yamaguchi wore as Tsukishima handed him the present, as well as the small, confused smile as he asked, “What’s this for?” and his eyes that squinted in that stupid _, adorable_ curiosity _—_ and that’s where Tsukishima severed the rumination.

Lately, it was small, inconsequential details of his friend that were the subjects of all his daydreams. He felt uncomfortable by the way they affected him, and it was becoming a greater struggle everyday to fight them off. One part of his mind struggled to pound those emotions back into its designated file of Restricted Thoughts, and another kept pushing them forward.

Lost in a labyrinth of cogitation, he failed to notice he was leaning back on a hard-covered book, his hand unknowingly gliding behind him. As He continued to rest his weight against it, the force of his hand pushing against the book allowed traction to take him flying backwards. He flailed his arms wildly, hitting his arm against the wooden frame in the dramatic process. He eventually regained his posture, although he felt an aggravating loss of dignity.

He searched for the culprit of the diminutive accident, eventually settling on glaring at the little black novel he was sure was closer when he sat down. In a fit of annoyance, Tsukishima snatched up the book with little respect to its owner. There were no words on either side of the book, and no removable cover could be found in the vicinity.

Curious, he cracked it open to the first page. It took him a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to what they hadn’t expected—a drawing. When the realization dawned on him, he snapped it closed.

This was Yamaguchi’s sketchbook.

 Tsukishima didn’t even know he liked to _draw._ The idea of a secret side of someone he was sure he knew everything about opened a door to curiosity, a door he never thought existed. Except, he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that door was labeled ‘Nosy.’ He just needed to decide if he cared or not.

_Yamaguchi’s business is Yamaguchi’s business. Yamaguchi’s business is Yamaguchi’s business._

He repeated this over in his mind so many times, the words became null.

He should be pulling Yamaguchi out of the shower. He should be telling him to get him dressed and taking him out—God knows this kid stays cooped up at home most of the time. But the shower behind him became a comforting hum as he opened to the first page.

The first drawing was a bird. Its beady eyes glared up from the page, wings rested firmly at its sides. Tsukishima's fingers reach out to touch it, but afraid of leaving a print in the charcoal, he reclined his hand. He turned the page. There were scattered sketches now—a floating head, several hands, feet, and upper body studies. There was no uniform pattern in his drawings. Most sketches looked half-finished, as though Yamaguchi could never focus on perfecting one area of skill.

Occasionally Tsukishima would catch something more familiar. Like the volleyball poses, or characters from the show they watch every Sunday.

Or a blonde, bespectacled sleeping form.

 He flushed a slight pink at this but continued his snooping. It was like he found a pair of Yamaguchi Lenses, and was seeing the world through his eyes. And with these new glasses, the world was minimal gestures, like someone sweeping the hair from their face, and nuance color combinations, captured in a painting of a bright stretch of light coming from the window in their club room. But, also, there were pictures of himself, some of them while he was training, others while studying. Flattery and bashfulness fluttered around his stomach and radiated on his cheeks.

_Does this mean—?_

The door knob rattled then, and Yamaguchi rushed into the room with a towel resting on his hips. Tsukishima’s head snapped up in alarm.

“I’m so sorry, Tsukki,” he rambled, ruffling through his underwear drawer. His back—a slight pink like Tsukishima expected—faced him. Tsukishima’s eyes lingered on the freckles absentmindedly. His hands stopped moving entirely.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were—? “

Yamaguchi turned around, green boxer in one hand, the other keeping his towel from falling. It took a moment, but after processing the crime scene in front of him, Yamaguchi’s face turned a violent shade of a red. Tsukishima watched him carefully. His eyes followed a trail of water as it swam past his collarbone.

“Is that…Is that my sketchbook?” Yamaguchi asked, voice squeaking uncontrollably. He took a step forward. Tsukishima cleared his throat and swallowed.

“…Yeah,” He answered, fiddling with his glasses.

He wondered why he felt so ashamed. He also wondered if it was because he was scandalizing his best friend in more ways than one. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Yamaguchi almost naked, but lately he can’t help but study the entire exterior of his skin when presented the chance.

He shook his head. _Focus_.

Yamaguchi’s face flashed between angry and nervous. It eventually settled on midly confused, but his eyes were conflicted. He gawked at the slim pale fingers touching one of his most private possessions. To Yamaguchi, this was as bad as Tsukishima finding his porn.

Tsukishima planned his movements deliberately. Keeping his eyes on his friend, he closed the book and set it aside.

“I...” Yamaguchi struggled to find what to say. His hands shook.

“It was just laying on your bed,” Tsukishima explained, hoping to calm Yamaguchi’s nervous vibes.

To his surprise, frustration took root within him, fingers curling and jaw tensing with the emotion. In that split second, he doubted his significance to Yamaguchi; he thought if the tables were turned (which they were at one point, when Tsukishima was in middle school and deeply involved with dinosaurs), Tsukishima wouldn’t be as clammed up as Yamaguchi. Wasn’t their relationship better than this? In a string of helpless thoughts, Tsukishima wondered if Yamaguchi didn’t think much of him after all.

But then he huffed, the rational part of his brain kicking in. When it came to matters like these, Tsukishima knew to be understanding, since Yamaguchi was easily susceptible to anxious speculation. But he was so loss as to how to comfort him, especially if he was the reason for his friend’s meltdown, and could only guardedly watch Yamaguchi as he struggled to keep his tears at bay.

For Yamaguchi’s state of mind, he decided to drop the situation for now.

Tsukishima relaxed his muscles, put on a passive poker face, and got up to leave, walking away from a flustered and confused puddle of embarrassment. Yamaguchi followed him with his eyes.

With one hand on the bedroom door, Tsukishima paused in mid step. Yamaguchi audibly heard his own breathing between their silence. Subtly attempting to swallow, he blinked hurriedly and averted his gaze.

 “We’re going to be late, so hurry up,” Tsukishima said into the quiet, making sure to maintain a steady gaze on him while talking.   

The sound of the door closing reverberated in both their minds.

 

 

 

Fluorescent lights glistened against Tsukishima’s spectacles. Yamaguchi watched out of the corner of his eyes a tiny version of the actors on screen in his glasses. He was hardly paying attention to the plot. Warm popcorn sat in his lap, and whenever Tsukishima reached for a handful, he stiffened

Yamaguchi felt ridiculous. As his hands rubbed against his jeans, he thought about calming down. He closed his eyes, but only briefly, because in that split second all the drawings of Tsukishima burst into his mind and heat flashed across his face. The warm skin boiled his eyes to tears and fingernails dug into his thigh. For the safety of his skin, he managed to unclench them, and placed them on both armchairs.

A few moments later, he felt a light skitter of fingers dance across the back of his palm. They slowly stretched out and flattened, trying to find where they fit comfortably.

Yamaguchi stared straight ahead.

The fingers edged his own apart and enclosed around his knuckles. A light squeeze, and all movements ceased, including the one in Yamaguchi’s chest.

They spent the rest of the movie this way. Yamaguchi attempted to pay attention, but his eyes kept wandering back to their intertwined hands, wondering what this meant— _if_ it meant anything. Tsukishima had a light blush dust his cheeks, but his expression gave nothing away.

The movie ended, Yamaguchi having absolutely no memory of it. He walked out in a daze. The day’s events had his mind squandering for a break from his anxiety and… whatever it was Tsukishima was doing. The night froze the air around them, plumes of smoke blowing through their noses. Yamaguchi’s scarf hung loosely over his neck; Tsukishima’s was tied neatly around his. His friend’s composure left Yamaguchi feeling uneasy.

Their hands were still pressed against each other. Yamaguchi wanted to pull away, self-conscience of his sweaty palms.

Thankfully ( _and unfortunately_ , but Yamaguchi ignored the thought for his own peace of mind), Tsukishima released his grip. They stood in front of Yamaguchi’s house. He knew from the way his friend fiddled with his glasses that he struggled with his next words. Yamaguchi looked away, touching his sweltering hand to the adjacent arm. He grew nervous, knowing the topic from earlier had to be brought up.

Yamaguchi took a deep breath.

“I overreacted— ,“ he started, but, to his own amazement, was cut off.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have— “

Surprised to have spoken over each other, they pause, unsure on how to proceed. A moment passed, and Tsukishima screwed his face into a grimace.

“Look,” he began, rather exasperatedly.

 “I shouldn’t have snooped like that. It wasn’t any of my business…” Tsukishima trailed off as Yamaguchi brought both hands up, shaking them with vehemence. 

“No, no, it was stupid of me to get so defensive over a few stupid drawings, you know…”—the rough sketches of Tsukishima flashed through his thoughts, and he choked down his humiliation— “… _extremely_ inconsequential, stupid drawings,” he added meekly.

Scratching the back of his head, he waited for Tsukishima to agree with him.

 But what he heard next was not a sarcastic and nasty voice.

It was a small, flustered tone.

“I… kinda thought they were really good.”

Now Tsukishima was the one who moves his gaze away, hands digging holes into his pockets. A memory resurfaced in Yamaguchi’s mind—tiny Tsukishima, who seemed lankier then, with a proud blush on his trying-too-hard-to-be-indifferent expression. He was bragging about his older brother, and Yamaguchi reimagines the slight puff in his best friend’s chest. Yamaguchi wondered how long it’s been since he was that boastful about something he cared.

And then he realized that right now, _right now,_ Tsukishima was making that same face for him.

All because of a few silly drawings he’d seen in his sketchbook.

Yamaguchi smiled to himself.

“Thanks, Tsukki,” He replied, unaware of his soft and gentle voice, or his cheeky grin stretching so wide his eyes disappeared. Tsukishima glanced at him and, while noticing all of these things, found he could hardly stand to look at Yamaguchi for too long unless he was willing to lose his composure. Which he was _not_.

“Whatever. I’m going home.” He turned abruptly on his heel, keeping his face casted down. 

Yamaguchi watched his retreating form, before taking a leap of blind faith and calling out to him. His friend stopped in his tracks.  

“Maybe…”

 He took a deep breath.

“Maybe… you can look at more of my drawings next time,” Yamaguchi finally said, surprising himself with the strength in his voice.

The three beats of silence seeped into Yamaguchi’s veins like poison and almost gave him another nervous meltdown, but then he heard a nonchalant, “Sure.”

He was unable to stop grinning again.

Tsukishima looked over his shoulder, and his heart beat erratically against his ribcage. Yamaguchi’s silhouette was illuminated under the streetlight, the sheen of his hair and the glare caused by Tsukishima’s own glasses casting a halo effect around Yamaguchi’s crown.

He swallowed hard. The emotions bubbling within him were foreign, and if he was honest, a bit frightening. Ok, _really_ frightening. Bordering on overwhelming.

However, as he continued to stare at his friend, who waved at him frantically with closed eyes, a warmer, more intimate emotion overtook him. It’s the same one that urged him to caress Yamaguchi’s hand at the movies, the one that forces him to study Yamaguchi’s sleeping expression whenever he stayed over, to memorize all the dark freckles splayed across his body.

The same one goading him back to embrace Yamaguchi with all his might.

He faced forward, again, and continued to walk home in bewildered silence. Tsukishima goes to bed that night with the memory of a warm, speckled hand encased in his own.

 

 

 

Luckily (or maybe unluckily, but Tsukishima wasn’t sure about that yet), his emotions continued to swell, growing and growing, culminating into an entirely new feeling that left him breathless every time Yamaguchi smiled, or laughed, or brushed his hands against his, or just _breathed_.

Maybe it was slightly out of his control.

Or maybe it was far out of his control, so far his fingertips could hardly scratch the surface of it. But he didn’t hear Yamaguchi complain as he pressed him up against the locker room, fingers running through brown tresses, lips practically swallowing Yamaguchi’s face—his sweet, adorable, freckled face.

“Mhmm,” Was Yamaguchi’s only response. His eyes were screwed tightly, like he was in pain.

Tsukishima stopped then. He was afraid he was pushing his friend’s emotions in the opposite direction. Re-positioning his arms so that his palms lay flat on the wall, he watched Yamaguchi’s expression from a small distance away. His eyes scanned for anything that might have meant rejection.

Even Yamaguchi’s and Tsukishima’s loud labored breathing combined couldn’t fill the silence between them. Unknowingly, Yamaguchi casted his eyes down abashedly, and wrung his fingers together. He practically acted as if he was the one to initiate the kiss. Tsukishima grew increasingly frustrated, but his mind was still on the high from the most intimate moment he ever had with his best friend.

“ _Well_?” he practically demanded.

Yamaguchi’s eyes snapped to his, before fluttering away nervously.

“Well,” Yamaguchi mimicked meekly.

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes, feeling very close to snapping.

Fortunately, Yamaguchi caught his gaze again, and realizing his friend’s mood, he struggled to find a proper response.

“That was, uh, that was…” God, he had imagined this scenario more than a dozen times, but he couldn’t find just one word to describe what it felt like. _Come on Tadashi,_ he chided himself, _say anything! Say it was good, great, amazing, a moment you’ve always dreamed of—!_

“That was… something.”

 _Are you for real?_ they both thought, flabbergasted.

Tsukishima hung his head.

“No! Wait,” Yamaguchi pleaded.

“I, it, that, I mean—“

“For God’s sake Yamaguchi, spit it out—“

“Y-You’re the only thing I draw nowadays.”

If he didn’t have the biggest case of foot in his mouth… But it was the one thing his mind grabbed while he thought of all the things proving his love for Tsukishima. He hadn’t really meant to say it though, the only reason it came up was because he was trying to convince himself how much he really need to get this moment right. Which he royally fucked up anyway.

Yamaguchi’s heart jumped straight into his throat as soon as he uttered the words, followed very closely by the rush of heat to his face and the loss of strength in his legs. He allowed himself to slip down to the tile, face buried behind his knees.

There was a sound of a shift in position. Tsukishima had crouched down in front of Yamaguchi, concerned but anticipating what came next.

“Yamaguchi?” He asked tentatively.

He groaned.

 “I _really_ like you, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima gasped softy through his nose, his heart stabbed repeatedly with pangs of affection. In a rare moment of spontaneous intimacy (which Tsukishima was prone to lately), he nuzzled head into Yamaguchi’s shoulder, lightly grasping his brown locks.

Yamaguchi froze again, before relaxing his shoulders.

“Thank god, Tadashi,” Tsukishima crooned.

Yamaguchi slowly wrapped his own arms around him. He was so afraid that once he touched Tsukishima, the moment would be gone in a giant _poof_! Instead of disappearing, Yamaguchi hands touched upon a warm, slanting, solid figure. Now with the boy beneath his fingers, the moment became drastically real, contrasting the steamy daze he was in before.

His face heated up, and he could tell Tsukishima was blushing too because of the heat brushing against his neck.

The door creaked open then, startling the both out of cloud nine. Tsukishima still had his arms wrapped around Yamaguchi, albeit more loosely. Yamaguchi looked pass his friend, locking eyes with Sugawara with an agape mouth. He looked as though he was going to say something, but the other members began to approach. Panicked, Sugawara slammed the door shut.

Yamaguchi’s heart hammered in his chest. He began detangling himself from Tsukishima, who compliantly allowed his arms to hang loosely on his sides. Suddenly, he brought his forehead to rest on Yamaguchi’s. Yamaguchi glanced shyly at him through his eyelashes, but found the close proximity was too much bear. He looked off to the side.

There was some arguing outside of the door, but it was white noise to both their ears. A pale hand caressed Yamaguchi’s cheek. Tsukishima was trying to catch Yamaguchi’s gaze, but failed.

“Hey,” he whispered. Yamaguchi swallowed.

“I really, _really_ like you too.”

Yamaguchi slowly lifted his eyes— _those beautiful chocolate orbs_ —to meet Tsukishima’s sappy expression.

“…And I knew about the pictures already.”

At this, Yamaguchi shut his eyes again, and smiled demurely.

**Author's Note:**

> when i first wrote this, I had stopped at the scene after the movies, but then I realized a lot of my fics dont have a lot cute scenes lolol
> 
> For a while, I kinda gave up on writing. But a few weeks ago I suddenly realized I needed to revisit that part of me again, like I would die if i didnt. Tbh, I dont know if ill write anytime soon again, but im hoping to have more faith in myself that I will. Lmk what you think!! Again, thanks so much for reading!!


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